Where Shadows Dance
by Seblik
Summary: Set long after modern day Warcraft, the legacies of heroes long past have faded and Azeroth knows peace. But ancient, veiled powers scheme in this unsuspecting world and fate now weaves great and terrible destinies for a chosen handful.
1. Winds of Change

**Disclaimer: **_What you are about to read uses elements from Blizzard Entertainment's "World of Warcraft", including but not limited to: settings, ideas and characters. After repeated calls they still refuse to give me the rights to their intellectual property so it's safe to bet that all material within (excluding original characters created by the author (me, Seblik)_) _belong to Blizzard and their wonderful franchise, which is being used without express written or verbal consent. (Please don't sue!)_

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A pale blue sky reigned above a desolate and dusty red wasteland, which in turn was domain to creatures as unyielding as their home. Marred only by the brilliant yellow disc that rolled into the zenith of the sky, signifying high noon, the sun beat down upon Durotar relentlessly and without mercy. In the northern reaches of the red expanse lay the city of Orgrimmar, commanding the canyons and craggy wastes of the land.

Within the confines of the city however the harsh, desolate stretch of land outside is softened by the pulse of life flowing through Orgrimmar's many winding valleys and roads. Amidst the roar of the throng of buyers and sellers in the markets, Zandali chanting in the Valley of Spirits and hushed voices in the Cleft of Shadows, one can always discern the clangor of steel singing in the Ring of Valor.

"Ya need tah be tightenin' your stance boy."

"If it were any tighter," the orc grunted, adjusting to deflect a glancing blow to his shoulder, "it would give the arse of that old bastard Strogg some competition."

He trotted backwards, the coarse golden sand of the arena gripping his bare feet. Brushing a thick forearm across his face, he melded a sweat streaked lock back into the unbound black mane that framed his face and smiled fiercely at his instructor.

"Watch where yah doin' that Rogar, it is Children's Week aftah all," the troll advised, bearing his pink, almost toothless gums in a grin.

Through squinted eyes Zenzal looked to the side of the arena and gestured toward a taller, more limber troll leaning in the shade of the pit to escape the day's dusty heat. The troll saw the signal and hefted a weapon from the rack beside him and made his way to the hunched elder who called him.

"You're in no place to talk you withered old fool," Rogar laughed, spinning the axes he held in each hand, sunlight catching on the jagged polished steel.

He watched as Zenzal's aide exchanged his two short swords for a massive two-handed blade. A wider smile parted Rogar's lips at the sight of the old troll struggling with the weapon as his assistant ambled away.

"I've never seen you wield such a mighty blade my friend. It is a shame I am going to break you before you have a chance to swing it," mocked the young orc playfully as he began to close the ground between them, the leather-bound hafts of his axes gripped firmly. "I'll make this quick."

The wrinkled blue hands of the troll strained against the weight of the sword, his lean and sinewy muscles managing to draw the blade into a proper but unsteady stance. Beaded sweat from his hairless pate trickled down his cheek and caught in the white, wispy hairs on the tip of his chin.

"Keep yah wits about you boy. Zenzal may be old but he be no pushover yah overgrown cactus," Zenzal answered, revealing another pink smile.

Rogar's lips went taut in a smirk as he broke from a walk into a run toward the troll who was hunched shakily in a defensive position. He brought an arm up and across to his shoulder, the blade out and straightened the other behind him for a follow-up strike. The distance between the two closed to but a few meters and the orc shifted his weight suddenly to his right foot, falling into a slight crouch before bursting left just outside of striking distance.

He swung the axe that he held close to his chest, arcing horizontally to meet the troll's neck but all the blade tasted was the flat of Zenzal's sword. Rogar drew his arm back with the recoil, commending the troll's quick but lucky pivot. A growl rumbled from the orc's powerful jaw as he brought his other arm down using his remaining momentum to unify steel with flesh but was disappointed once again.

Rogar's axe cut through a swath of air where Zenzal was but a heartbeat ago. The unanticipated move tipped him slightly off balance, swinging low and powerfully. He regained his stance quickly and looked to meet his opponent once more but found the old troll crouched, sword flashing toward him. He pumped his legs to escape the blade's reach but the sand offered little support under the attempt and the flat of Zenzal's broad blade struck the orc squarely in his ribs.

The breath exploded from Rogar's lungs as the force of the blow flung him sideways, leaving him sprawled on the sand, a low groaning escaping his lips. The troll looked to his quarry through squinted eyes and, satisfied that defeat was accepted, ambled over to his body as Rogar shifted to sit up.

"Zenzal be warnin' yah, young one. It is not tha strong who underestimate," he began, planting the sword firmly and gathering sand into his ancient hands as he crouched beside the orc. "That be a fool's move, an' no warchief of Zenzal's be a fool," he continued, tapping his nose with a long finger.

"I'm not the warchief yet, Zenzal, I think you've been in the sun too long."

Tilting his head, Rogar cleared his throat and spat a glob of saliva threaded with blood and some of the sand he ingested. Lifting the hem of his armor, he slowly began examining his ribs under his chain mail. His teeth clenched at the heated pain stemming from a pair of cracked ribs he pressed his fingers to. He noted a few more as he continued down.

"Not bad you shriveled blueberry. Four cracked ribs, one more than last time. And a few bruised ones even," he added with a pained expression, probing further.

"Zenzal taught your father an' way back to his greatfather, Vagar the Bloodfist. An' not a single one woulda been da orc dey waz without ol' Zenzal," the wizened troll regarded with a firm nod. "An' now it be your turn young one. You 'ave strong blood in those veins Rogar, warrior blood. Aftah twenty summahs, your body be strong enough tah begin your real training."

"I was wondering when you'd finally realize it," Rogar agreed. He removed his hand from under his chain mail and pushed off from the sand to stand up. He flexed, arms stretched out as he rotated his torso from side to side then relaxed his posture, gingerly rubbing his aching ribs.

"Still being bested by that old troll?" A deep, refined voice chuckled from the deep shadow of the arena hallway.

Fighting a grin, he turned to face the source of the voice and replied, "Why don't you come out here and test your mettle, Kraz?"

A figure stepped out from the shadows and into the beaming sun illuminating the arena floor, golden sand crunching beneath knee-high worg-skin boots. The man was an orc, a head taller than Rogar and leaner than most but still roped with muscle. He wore a loose gray-blue robe adorned with depictions of the elements, underneath which he wore a plain gray leather jerkin and black linen pants. His hair flowed in thick, black-blue tresses with thin braids haphazardly strewn in affixed with small trinkets of bone and lacquered wood. He approached Rogar, pausing for a moment as they locked eyes then embraced him warmly with a light laugh, patting his back with a gloved hand.

"It is good to see you old friend."

"Yes, it has been a while now hasn't it," Rogar said thoughtfully.

"Indeed, father has been grooming me to be an ambassador to the Alliance, as you know. I just returned from Theramore this morning after twelve moons of visitation and working with the humans. Your father told me you would be here," Kraz replied, then looked to the crouched troll and smiled. "Ancestors smile upon you Zenzal, how do those old bones fare?"

"Good enough tah move meself from here tah there," said Zenzal, offering a pink grin.

"Then nothing has truly changed then," chuckled Kraz, taking in a deep breath. "It is good to be home again. Oh, before I forget, I was told that your father is calling for a meeting of the councils at sundown and he wants you and I to sit-in."

"Aye, Zenzal has already informed me," Rogar replied, and looked to the troll, still crouched beside him. "Have we concluded our lesson for today?" He asked as he reached down for the axes he dropped. As he gathered them, the blades underwent a brief inspection before being fastened to loops on his waist.

"Ah suppose so," the troll shrugged as he rose, his ancient vertebrae cracking softly. Zenzal fingered the white wisps at the tip of his dagger-like chin, a thoughtful expression glazed over his face as he looked skyward.

Sunlight swelled through the opening at the epicenter of the domed arena, combating the great shadow cast by the rest of the massive building. As the three stood in the warm golden sand, a vast blanket of rumbling clouds began to roll in from the north. The light within began to wane as the deep blue veil muted the sun, draping a gloom over the great arena. Kraz's eyes scanned the darkening sky, his brows furrowed. Rogar, standing beside his friend, conducted his expression in a similar fashion.

"Durotar has not tasted rain for thirteen moons," mused the warrior orc, his gaze cast upward.

"An' was not supposed tah for another two," Zenzal added and began down the hallway from where Kraz made his entrance. "I expect tah see you two at da council," he concluded with a wave of his hand, his thin figure escaping beyond the dim light. Enveloped by heavy shadows, he was gone.

The orcs lingered, exchanging glances as a rolling crash of thunder broke the silence between them and rain began to fall. The wide, even expanse of golden sand was now spotted with caramel brown where water and earth met. In a matter of minutes Orgrimmar's dry, battering heat was relieved by cool, heavy rain. Amidst the low roar of the clouds, the clamor in the streets of the city could be heard beyond the arena, the bewildered citizens likely praising the unexpected downpour.

"Well friend, let's get you caught up with everyone. I know Shuula has been talking about you, 'Oh ancestors, guide Kraz home safely to my warm embrace.' Right in Khiva's tavern I heard her," Rogar described, slapping his friend on the back and nudged him to turn and move toward the tunnel.

"Is that so? Was that ghastly falsetto an attempt at imitating Shuula?" Asked the leaner orc, crossing his arms.

"Was it truly ghastly?" Rogar shot back, the image of insulted.

"Ancestors watch over us," sighed Kraz as they entered the tunnel.

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**A/N:** Hello all, my name is Seblik and this is my first serious attempt at writing fanfiction! If you caught this fic before the update, yes I did remove the prologue chapter. I felt it would be better to have you (the reader!) hit the ground running with no previous knowledge of how the world has changed. I thrive on criticism so please comment and review! :)


	2. Momentum

"Renzi you blue bastard, I swear I'll rip your tusks off if you lace my boots together again," Rogar boomed, laying face down on the stained wooden floor.

The table he had attempted to leave erupted in roars of laughter, heavy fists buffeting the tabletop. Mugs of ale threatened to spill but remained upright in the commotion and two long fingers looped through one of the carved handles. The rogue's face was shadowed by a drawn black hood but white lines could be made out on the troll's skin. Taking a deep drink between his tusks, he wore a wicked grin with trails of foam lining his lips as he set his mug down.

"It's his way of saying he misses you," laughed Kraz. "He got me once over at Shuula's and twice since we've been here."

Rogar had successfully undone the knot then stood upright and began dusting off the front of his armor. The hard expression he wore grew softer for a moment as he looked over at the table full of his friends but upon meeting Renzi's gaze quickly returned to his stern visage.

"I stand by what I said, there's a dozen things I could use those tusks for." This drew more laughs from the table which Rogar confirmed with a stiff nod then continued on to his original destination, the bar. The Drunken Axe tavern in the Valley of Strength had long been one of his and Kraz's favorite haunts since they had begun their paths as warriors. Countless nights of spirited company and even more spirited drinks had secured The Drunken Axe a special place in Rogar's heart. He sat himself on an empty stool and rapped his knuckles loudly against the ale-stained wood while his eyes roamed for whoever was tending the bar.

A frowning olive green head poked itself out from a doorway, eyes searching for the source of the noise and upon discovering it, loosened into a smile. She stepped out from the door, her arms full of mugs stacked haphazardly.

"Ah, Rogar," the woman laughed, "I'll be right with you." She set the mugs somewhere beneath the counter beyond his sight and straigtened her apron. She leaned forward, arms resting on the counter and flashing him a devilish grin. "So what can I do to serve our future warchief?"

Rogar raised an eyebrow and gave her a curious look. "About time you started giving me the respect I deserve, Khiva." He replied with a smirk and a slight shake of his head."Another round of your finest grog for our table," he said jabbing a thumb behind him.

She met Rogar with jade green eyes and with a nod set out mugs on the bar and one by one began to fill them from a tankard underneath the counter and as she placed the last one Rogar laid down six silver pieces. Khiva scooped the coin up and dropped it into an apron pouch with a soft jingle.

"Thank you for your continued patronage to The Drunken Axe," Khiva droned, masking a smile.

"Anything to keep you around," Rogar quipped playfully as he grabbed a foamy mug and tipped it back for a deep gulp, shooting her a wink as he did. He smacked his lips in refreshment as he set down his mug and gave the entire tavern a once over. "Speaking of axes, where's that old battle axe Reshka?"

"My mother," she emphasized with a challenging look, "Is down in the cellar checking the casks for rat damage. Last week one came loose, unsecured another and they both split open. The entire downstairs was flooded an inch deep in orcish amber and a thalassian white wine. Needless to say, any rats that didnt drown were too smashed to scamper away," she finished with a satisfied smirk.

"No rest for the wicked, eh?" He said with a toothy smile. Reshka was like a mother to him while growing up, something he was eternally grateful for. His father, obligated to the duties of warchief, spent what little time he could with Rogar and Reshka saw this was not enough when he would play with a young Khiva and Kraz. So she took on the extra responsibilities of not only looking after him but having a hand in raising him day in and day out.

"You know how she is," Khiva said with a light smile and Rogar nodded in agreement.

"Well, I'm gonna go finish celebrating with Kraz before the council tonight. From what he told me he has to ship out on another diplomatic mission soon, guess there's some delicate political situation in Stormwind. Have you had a chance to talk with him yet?"

"No not yet," she replied, casting her eyes downward, a twinge of disappointment in her voice. "Shuula has kept his nearly undivided attention when I've tried to get a word in."

"Bah, I'll send him your way then. You leave Shuula to me," He said with a reassuring nod.

Khiva raised an eyebrow. "Oh I bet you'd enjoy distracting Shuula, eh?"

Rogar cracked a wolfish grin. "Not as much as I'd enjoy distracting you Khiva," he said, leaning toward her.

A light chuckle accompanied Khiva's exaggerated eyeroll. "You better get back to your rabble-rousing friends before they bust up my tavern," she said with a dismissive wave, turning her attention to a wet rag she pulled from her apron and began scrubbing the countertop with.

"It was nice seeing you too Khiva." With a snort Rogar gathered up the mugs and proceeded back to his seat, distributing the cold and foamy drinks. "Except for you Renzi, I'm cutting you off."

"Thas fine mon, I don' deserve anudda drink from me good friend Rogar. I've learned my lesson." The dark blue troll shifted in his seat, distracting from the quick movement of his dextrous fingers underneath the table.

"How uncharacteristically mature of you," grunted Rogar, peering at the hooded troll through narrowed eyes as he took a drink of grog.

"I don't think you give Renzi enough credit," Shuula added to Renzi's defense.

Kraz grinned at the slender orc beside him. "Once you've known Renzi as long as me and Rogar have, you know that you have to be wary of everything he says, even if it's acting normal. Isn't that right Renzi?"

"Ya mon, if ya don' stay on ya toes around me you'll be fallin on ya face like Rogar," advised Renzi as he feigned to smack himself in the face. The troll then pulled back his hood, revealing a lean, hard face decorated with tribal tattoos done in white ink against his dark stormy blue skin. Atop his head a shock of white hair stuck in every which-way. Glittering orange eyes above a knowing smile roamed the table.

"How nice of you to join us," scoffed Rogar, polishing off his grog and planting his mug upside-down on the table. "Oh, Kraz I meant to ask if you had talked with Khiva yet. When I was getting our drinks she said she'd been dying to hear from you," he looked across the table to his friend, seeing Shuula's arm looped through Kraz's.

"No, I haven't," Kraz replied thoughtfully, a glimmer of sadness flashed across his defined features. "I've been thoughtless, I should go see her." He stood up from his seat, unwinding himself from Shuula and walking gracefully to the bar.

Rogar turned to see them when he heard Khiva exclaim and then a shattering noise shortly after. The pair was getting along as if they'd all been together just yesterday, the thought of which warmed him. His attention turned back to the table; Renzi's gaze was hovering over the fellow tavern patrons and Shuula had a poisonous stare fixated on Rogar. He rose from his seat to join Kraz and Khiva and then fell flat on his face.

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The golden disc that dominated the skies had now faded to a beaten, molten bronzen and began to drip down below the horizon. The storm clouds from the afternoon still hung heavily over Durotar, the once refreshing promise of rain now was a forboding visitor. Within bruised clouds of black and green rumbled the echoes of thunder in the strangely humid air. The red streets of Orgrimmar were markedly barren, deep shadows cast down the craggy alleys. Most of the vendors had closed up shop and whoever walked the roads did so with a destination in mind, including one particular pair.

"The elements are in a state of unrest," frowned Kraz, his eyes cast upwards. "This does not bode well my friend, not well at all. We should make haste to the council chambers."

Rogar grunted his agreement and the pair picked up their stride to Grommash Hold, the center of power in Orgrimmar, home to the elite Kor'kron guard and seat of the warchief, Durok Rageblade.

The fortifaction was built into the mountains of Durotar themselves and built to last, the defenses all but impregnable, forcing an invasion through the bottleneck entrance at the main gate. When the pair arrived the Kor'kron waved them through with a salute to the son of the warchief and the high warlord. Shadows danced, cast from flames that trembled in the braziers that lined the hallways. Various species of animal hides, long hair and short, covered the stone floor that had been worn smooth from centuries of exposure.

The pair mirrored the stern silence of the hold as they walked through its wide and sparsely decorated corridors. Spines of blackened, twisted metal framed the open doorway into the council chambers and the orcs were greeted by plumes of heavy incense as they neared, where two armed Kor'kron snapped a salute and permitted them access into the room.

A wide, darkened shallow pit sat in the middle of the chamber and within its ashy confines a great fire blazed. Thick logs crackled and smoked as orange and red tongues greedily consumed the offering of wood and incense. Rogar surveyed the room; seated around the fire on cushions and hides were some of Orgrimmar's most influential and distinguished individuals.

Throm Sharpeye and Gresh Steeljaw, lieutenant generals of the Horde who were conversing quietly and while Throm appeared relaxed, Gresh sat stiffly, a sour look on his pockmarked face.

Across the fire from them was Tor Blackwind, ambassador from Thunder Bluff. The tauren sat hunched over, his weathered grey eyes were glazed over and stared blankly into the flames before him. The druid looked as if he hadn't slept for days.

"He looks as if he could fall over and die any moment," Rogar nudged Kraz beside him and faintly gestured to Tor.

Kraz's brow furrowed in thought at the sight. "Perhaps some ill news from Thunder Bluff," he speculated, lips growing taut in a frown. "We'll have to see."

Seated further down from the tauren was Katanja and Elroden Dawnwalker, the warchief's head magi. Both of them were engrossed in arcane tomes that had the characteristic of being too thick for Rogar's taste.

Opposite the mages was the warlock Drakal, sitting cross-legged in a dark robe, a gnarled staff across his lap and arms folded in his sleeves. The orc's face was smooth yet his features were handsomely chiseled, hardly creased by his true age. He was lean, similar to Kraz in his build but his figure emanated strength, the black hair on his scalp pulled into a tight ponytail. He met Rogar's gaze with a small nod, the ghost of a knowing smirk on his lips. Drakal was one of his father's most trusted advisors, to great dismay of some of his other council.

Beside the warlock was a human woman that Rogar did not recognize. "Kraz, who is that next to Drakal? Have you seen her before?"

"I can't say that I know who she is," he began, looking her over, "But by the look of her robes she must be from the Kirin Tor. Look at the eye," he said indicating the symbol on her chest.

"So she's from Dalaran then," Rogar added with a nod, "This is shaping up to be an interesting gathering."

Across from the mage was a grizzled older looking orc and upon his drab olive skin the history of a lifetime battles was chronicled. Strogg Bloodbane sat cross-legged and shirtless with his arms folded across his barrel chest. The thick orc was roped with muscle achieved through tireless training and combat. A black leather patch covered his right eye and the same side of his face looked as though an explosion of glass and shrapnel had detonated not an armslength from him. The corner of his mouth was permanently tugged up in a slight but gruesome smile, an ironic twist for such a grim and joyless orc.

In the back of the room sat a dark green orc with greying hair that was wound tightly in a thick braid. Flint colored eyes shone with a powerful sense of awareness and they looked up to meet his son's gaze. Durok Rageblade, warchief of the Horde, stood up and held out thickly muscled arms in welcome.

"Ah, the final pieces of the puzzle," he said in a light baritone, a smile splitting his lips. "Please, take a seat," Durok continued, indicating the vacant hides with a sweeping gesture. He motioned to the guards outside and the thick wooden doors swung shut.

The pair placed themselves near Throm and Gresh who welcomed their presence with a wave from Throm and a quick nod by Gresh. Durok held up a single hand and the conversations amongst those present ceased, leaving a deep silence broken only by the splitting and crackling of wood by the fire.

"Brothers," he began, sweeping his gaze across the chamber, "Sisters. I called this council to order because dire news has blown in on fel winds from all across Azeroth. The most pressing matter however is of our western neighbors," Durok looked to Tor Blackwind, his expression heavy.

"We are losing the war against the united quilboar and centaur front. Every effort made to sabotage and combat this union has failed. With their superior numbers and near dominance of Mulgore while disease ravages Thunder Bluff from the inside, the situation has hardly been as grim as it is now." Durok paused to let his words sink in as he read the faces of his audience.

"Attempts at relocation have failed and negotiation talks have repeatedly fallen through. Over the past week, a covert operation was devised and executed to eliminate key leaders and targets. We had a lot riding on this to work without error and someone with inside information leaked our mission and targets to them."

Durok hung his head low, sweeping the ground as he let the information be absorbed. Strogg's lip twitched and below his jaw muscles bunched, visibly attempting to control his anger.

"The operation was crippled and the soldiers we had sent deep behind enemy lines were captured, brutally tortured and then murdered. Now we don't know exactly what information was and wasn't divulged, but they know that we are desperate. While Thunder Bluff is unassailable from the ground, it is estimated that even with all the supplies and aid we can provide with wind riders," Durok seemed to chew the words in his mouth, the pause hanging heavily in the room. "The city's population will be eradicated within a few months. The containment and safety of Thunder Bluff has-"

"It's become their own tomb," rumbled Strogg. "Dying children cling to their dead mothers-"

"Enough Strogg." Durok replied, his brow furrowed.

"Their strongest warriors enfeebled to the strength of elders."

"Strogg, I said enough," he snapped. "Our healers are doing all they can to tend to the sick but they are overworked and being stretched thin."

In the silence that followed Durok, Tor began to ease himself up, straining visibly but he rose at last, commanding the attention of the chamber.

"We tauren are a proud people, strong and resistant. We have witnessed the exodus of your kind to Kalimdor, forged bonds and fought in wars both small and great," Tor delivered slowly and leaned forward on his cane, his face twisted in sorrow while fighting to keep his voice steady.

"However, we harbor no love for bloodshed as the act of taking another life is one filled with great responsibility. But our ancient conflict with the centaur and quilboar has drowned Mulgore in a tide of blood. I honor all that you have done warchief and the actions of warriors such as yourself Strogg," the tauren cast his pained gaze upon the orcs and bowed.

"I have many fears, I am not shamed to admit it. But my greatest is that this war may only a precursor of things to come. The alliance of centaur and quilboar," Tor shook his head. "I would not have believed it if I did not bear witness to the carnage with my own eyes. We paid dearly for underestimating them. Now our homeland is ravaged. Our faith is shaken and my people are broken. All the future holds for us is uncertainty, with our fate hanging in the balance." The tauren took a deep breath and released it, his powerful chest rising and falling.

"But the time for words has past. Now is the time I must be with my people, when they need me most, just as I need them," Tor concluded as he made his way to the chamber exit and rapped against it with his cane. The stoic Kor'kron swung the door open, allowing the tauren egress, his hooves clacking softly on the stone floor. With a final look to the silent council chamber, Tor nodded with a saddend smile.

"May the ancestors watch over us all."


	3. The Shadow

_A sickly green wreath of flame began to consume the enfeebled body, eliciting primal screams of agony. The conflagrated figure writhed and spasmed beyond its control, terror ripping from her throat._

_Then slowly but surely all movement ceased, the jade colored fire reduced to a simmer. Underneath a dead sky, an unrecognizable and blackened corpse smoldered and emitted greasy plumes of noxious smoke._

_"Tell me human, how does it feel? To watch helplessly as your comrade was put to the stake and burned," asked a grave and resonant voice that dripped with malice. "Tell me!" It laughed, echoing although the space around them was barren._

_"Elexis," barely a whimper as it left the man's lips. "I'm so sorry." He fell to his knees, head to chest as his expression went slack._

_The creature kicked into the kneeling human's back and flattened him onto his stomach. Breath wheezed out of his lungs with a groan and his fingers grasped for support but he only dragged back hard dirt beneath his fingernails._

_"Pitiful. Just pitiful," it spat, laced with venom. "I tire of these paltry distractions. Can you only provide passing amusement at best?" A barbed hoof ground into the man's spine and wrested a choked cry from his throat as he squirmed underneath the creature._

_"But more of you will come," it smiled, exposing elongated canines between two rows of stained teeth. "You always do. And the succulent essence of your souls will serve as nourishment to the eternal host."_

_Its heel ground further into his back, thorns ripping and tearing at his robe and into the tender flesh beneath. Unable to move, his arms whipped out and grasped for purchase, tearing off fingernails in his frantic action._

_"Yes. Struggle. Labor benath my foot, worm," it roared. Blood erupted from ripped flesh and soaked his shredded robes and caked the creature's hoof. The beast crouched down and wrapped its long bony fingers around the man's head. Long nails scraped his scalp as he ground his face into the dead earth._

_"It is a shame you won't be able to see your world burn when I set my torch beneath it, as you watched her," the rich voice rumbled in his ear, gesturing to the blackened corpse nearby._

_The hoof dug deeper and the bones of his spine began to crack, torn flesh catching on the barbs. Bubbled agony spurt out from the man's lips, his face scraped raw and hair matted with blood._

_"The insects will swarm and and scream for mercy when the flames lick at their feet. And as the fires grow they will begin to turn on each other. Scratching and clawing to survive a few breaths longer than the speck of dust beside him. Only to succumb before the inevitable holocaust," it hissed, putting additional pressure on his spine._

_A satisfying snap erupted from the man's back and he was still. The creature rose and stretched its wings, the dark veined membrane grew taut as the muscles on his back flexed. It leaned down and wrapped powerful fingers around the human's neck and pulled the body upright, looking it over._

_A clawed hand tore the front of the man's robe off and he looked it over in its palm then released the corpse to the ground. A golden eye with three prongs below it. The nathrezim scoffed and with a thought the fringes of the cloth erupted in green flames. It was a moment before a small pile of ash sat in the demon's hand, a knowing smirk on his face as he cast the remains to the ground._


	4. Awaken

An inky black expanse swept across the heavens, awe-inspiring and fathomless in its sheer magnitude. Interwoven throughout the immaculate darkness was a crown of stars that twinkled softly, free of the storm clouds that dispersed with widespread relief.

Wispy strands and bursts of faint colorful gas acted as a backdrop between the motes of light, the sky above acted as a window into the cosmos, providing a glimpse into the great and terrible vastness in which Azeroth lingered.

A speckle of dust suspended in a beam of light from another view, elsewhere in the Great Dark Beyond.

But below the breadth of the sky, fires raged in braziers and below mantles as the bitter chill of nighttime set itself upon Durotar. Mothers and fathers exchanged tired smiles over their sleeping children, shopkeepers closed up their wares til the morning and bartenders began to make their last calls for the night.

However, within the warchief's council chambers the heat and light from the great fireplace did little to remedy the grim and long-winded discussion taking place.

Since the departure of Tor Blackwind to the tauren refugee camp two more council members had arrived, much to Rogar's interest.

Zenzal, the eldest of Durok's advisors, his most trusted and one of Orgrimmar's most honored citizens. The troll had served Durok and both his father and greatfather, providing a lifetime of unflinching loyalty, wisdom and even military service in his junior years to the city of Orgrimmar.

His true age is uncertain although many speculate he is well over several centuries, despite biting criticism that such a thing is impossible.

The troll took his place on Durok's right, seated cross-legged in his iconic ancient stained and frayed kilt, his upper body bare.

Alongside Zenzal was Kor'thak Stormfist, the warchief's lead shaman and warlord. The massive orc stood two heads over most and garbed in black leathers with a sable wolf pelt hung over his shoulder, he was an awe-inspiring figure to most.

His body language expressed a deep-rooted feralness and primitivity, but one that had been refined over many years, sharpened through hard earned discipline. He took his appointed seat to the left of the warchief, cross-legged and palms resting on his knees.

Brief greetings were exchanged and the somber discussion resumed where it had left off.

Durok nodded toward Katanja to proceed and the troll's nimble fingers returned to her tome, followed by a moment of rustling paper until she placed a palm down on the exposed page.

"I'll recount for those of ya who are just settlin' in. Ya all know that all of Azeroth is crisscrossed by perpetual ropes of great magical power called ley lines. These lines are significant ta all beings with even a single drop of magic energy within them."

"Some use them so that they may tap power from them, to others they are sacred. But regardless, due to the sheer importance of these lines they have been studied, surveyed and scrutinized by most conceivable means of doing so," Elroden continued.

"Now what I was sayin' before," Katanja picked up. "Was that tha location of these lines, and the nexuses where they converge, are all very well mapped and haven't changed significantly in known history. Occasionally there are anomalies that occur but nothing especially noteworthy, being as ancient- "

"So if there is nothing noteworthy, why are we having this discussion?" Rumbled Strogg, wearing a humorless scowl.

The matronly troll's expression morphed from concerned to slightly amused.

"Because, noble Strogg, a ley line has _awoken_ in Winterspring."

* * *

Ice gripped the orc's feet and locked him in place, but his momentum kept him going, causing him lose balance and fling his staff aside. Bloodlust in his eyes, the orc opened his mouth but only flames escaped his lips, knuckles white, veins and eyes bulging as his entire body wound up in pain.

It was only a moment before he fell forward, his lungs burned and shriveled from within.

With a thud softened by the marshy earth, the orc collapsed never to rise again. A female came into sight around a group of trees just as he hit the ground and let loose a throaty howl. Wielding a similar staff to the male's, she thrust it toward the killer, two-handed and in a casting position.

A dark flare of energy erupted and crackled from the rod and rushed toward the white haired figure. In retaliation he thrust a hand toward the attack, conjuring a red-orange ball of flame that burst from his palm. Their efforts collided with flash and an unnatural rumble that echoed eerily throughout the forest's mist.

The blood elf cursed as he attempted to survey the heavy darkness of the woods around him, quickly returning his attention to the orc attempting to close the distance between them.

He cleared his mind, forced the base of his staff into the ground and muttered something under his breath. Instantaneously a wave of flame roiled away from him and crashed into the female, the impact bringing her to her knees.

He took advantage of her brief disoriented state and followed up with a stab of his staff, producing a cone of conflagration that flared out and consumed most of the orc's upper body. The roar of searing flames dissipated and blood-curdling shrieks and crackling skin filled the silent world around them.

The scent of burning flesh filled the blood elf's nostrils and although he cringed, made no attempt to stifle the smell. The screams were now mixed with chokes but became shorter, and soon ceased as her throat melted and closed.

The wind began to pick up and the smell of burnt orc went with it downwind to the blood elf's silent relief. This also exposed the moon, full and pale, which in turn shed light into the gloom of the forest.

All around the elf were silhouettes, black against the shadows they crept from. Some chanted, some laughed but most of them were silent, and that silence was what unnerved him. A few of the figures began to reach the exposure of the moonlight.

A thin human, his complexion was bloodless and black veins coursed beneath his skin. Greasy, tangled black hair fell lank to his shoulders as he limped forward with his staff.

A gnome laughed and mumbled to himself, his left eye had swollen shut due to what looked like an infection. His skin was an unhealthy yellow and his robe was caked in mud and stained from what appeared to be weeks, or even months of use without being cleaned.

As more shadows edged into the moonlight the blood elf gripped his staff firmly and kept himself on a pivot, ready to burn down the first wretch to get close enough.

He rolled his shoulders and spat to the side, muscles tense.

"I hate warlocks.''

* * *

Rogar raised a thick eyebrow. He surveyed the faces of those around him and what he saw ran the gambit from bewildered to indifferent.

Kor'thak's brow was knitted in thought, staring into the fire as his fingers drummed absently on his knees.

Zenzal was serene as he looked about the room and faintly hummed to himself.

The magi talked in low tones to each other and gestured to the tome repeatedly.

Gresh and Throm looked to each other, uncertain, almost as if they waited to react as instructed.

Durok and the Kirin Tor mage conversed quietly, the warchief listening sternly to the tired looking woman.

Strogg sat impassive, his eternal sneer fixed on the mages.

"Okay, I'll bite," he snorted. "What does that mean?"

Elroden smiled sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head.

"Well, that's the thing. You see, we're not exactly sure why this happened or the full ramifications, because ley lines just don't _awaken_. As far as we know at least. And while this is an incredible opportunity to learn more about such an ancient power," he trailed off and visibly grasped for the wording.

"We don't know how stable tha line is," Katanja continued. "Our colleagues in tha field have reported that tha energy fluctuates wildly, spikin' and droppin'. Elroden and I would request your permission warchief, ta venture to Winterspring and study the phenomenon ourselves."

Durok leaned forward, fingers laced at his chin.

"You have my permission mages. But first," he began with a gesture to the woman beside him. "This is Aerwen of the Kirin Tor, acting ambassador from Dalaran. She arrived earlier today with supplemental news of the situation in Winterspring. Aerwen," Durok finished with a nod to the human.

"Thank you warchief. The ley line quandary certainly has the mages buzzing in Dalaran, but few expedition parties have been sent." The fatigued mage's tired eyes rested on the pair of magi.

"The reason being is that the ley line has had," she chewed the word over. "'Extraordinary' effects on the local population, flora and fauna. We lost all contact with the three preliminary teams we sent around the region. They are listed as missing in action but," she trailed off, jaw tightening before regaining composure. "We have little hope in their safe return.," she said quietly, eyes cast downward.

Strogg broke the silence with an exaggerated grunt, powerful arms crossed over his chest.

"Am I the only one still not seein' the big picture here? How does some magical energy," he gestured with a dismisive wave of a thick hand. "In Winterspring have any bearing on us, here and now?"

The Kirin Tor mage frowned at the orc, meeting his gaze with a heavy sigh.

"Because orc, what does unbalanced magical power attract?"

"People trying to wield it," Strogg said matter-o-factly. "But I don't get us blowin' all this steam over-"

"Demons, orc! Demons are drawn to power like moths to a flame," she interrupted, eyes wide. "If we do not gain control of this phenomenon as soon as we can, we will pay dearly for the consequences in the future."

"I-I see," the orc replied stiffly, mouth thinned to a line.

* * *

Dark bursts of magic tore through the air around the blood elf as he dispensed retribution in return to his foe. But his mind began to grow weary and the seemingly unending concentration began to take a toll on the mage's body.

He was surrounded in the clearing, the warlocks finally closed in around him and cut off any visible chance of escape. The elf felt the fatigue setting in, the soreness of his muscles begging to rest. His head throbbed, pain pulsed in his temples and his skull threatened to split open.

His staff was held defensively, head swiveling to stay aware. The warlocks silently agreed to cease their assault in unison as they stepped into the moonlight. A circle was formed around him, the gambit of races silent as they monitored him.

_They can kill me at any moment, but why aren't they?_

His heavy panting began to slow and he wiped the sweat from his brow with a forearm.

"What do you want with me?" He called out, voice hoarse. "Finish me off or say some-"

A flare of shadow energy interrupted his challenge, smashing into the middle of his back and sending the blood elf staggering forward onto his hands and knees. A bloody rope of spit hung from the mage's lips, face twisted in pain as he groaned through gritted teeth.

Another concussive burst collided into his ribs, wisps of shadow washing over him. The elf was forced onto his back as the world spun and blurred above him.

What felt like a lifetime had passed before a dark shape loomed into view. Through squinted eyes the mage attempted to make out any features of the figure but its face appeared smudged and distant. An ethereal voice rumbled, finding its way beyond his ears, deep inside his head.

_"When the child of wrath falls and the very snow is as ash, the sun will dawn upon a new day. The torch will be extinguished and those who dwell in the darkness of this world will retreat," _the words were a soothing song in his mind.

_"But when you bring down the sun," _paralyzing pain flooded his body and the elf struggled to breathe._ "Immortal night will reign,"_ booming laughter echoed in his skull and white hot pain blurred his vision. He gasped, a voiceless scream trembling in his throat.

The blood elf felt a crushing pressure across his body, blood rushed and he sensed dark energy pricking at his mind.

A surge of light flashed above him, sweeping across the forest clearing and everything was black.

* * *

The fire in the council chambers burnt down to embers, charred logs crackled and glowed against the darkness.

"Strange tidings, eh father?"

"Yes Kraz, most unsettling tidings," nodded Kor'thak. "However, I still insist you continue with your upcoming diplomatic visit to Stormwind."

Kraz's brow furrowed. "But, I don't quite understand. What if I am needed here?"

"Even in the light of these recent events we cannot shirk our duties," he said solemnly, a strong hand rested reassuringly on his son's shoulder.

Kraz's cast his gaze downward.

"I understand," meeting his father's eyes with a knowing nod.

Kor'thak smiled warmly at his son, at the man he had become.

"Come Kraz," Rogar coaxed. "Let's see off Katanja and Elroden. Who knows when we'll see them again."

"Good idea, they're going to need all the luck their friends can muster."

"Father, I want to speak to you later. Will you be in your chambers?"

"Yes Rogar, I'll keep the torches burning," nodded the warchief.

The pair exited the chamber, leaving their fathers alone in the low light of the room. When their footsteps subsided Durok released a heavy sigh.

"The thought of these coming days leaves a heaviness in my heart, Kor."

"The Horde is strong warchief, we have weathered much in our long and proud history. If a threat does arise, we will conquer it swiftly and without mercy," encouraged the shaman, clenching his raised hand into a fist.

"My concerns are not for the Horde," he paused, flint colored eyes watering. "They are for Rogar."


	5. Laughter

Silent but unyielding, darkness encroached slowly from east, ushering the setting sun to sink below the horizon. Wispy clouds drifted and tangled carelessly on a caressing breeze, high above the rolling waves of the tawny savanna below.

A convoy of riders navigated the wide and featureless expanse known far and wide as the Barrens, the only visible sign of life for miles around them. A cloud of scattered dust billowed in their wake, indicating their passage well enough for anyone who would want to pursue.

Lanterns hung from posts strapped to saddles, angry orange torchlight flickering around the group of armed men, casting shadows that danced just beyond their reach. The soft clop of hooves, clinking of armor and rustling of bags was a world of sound that broke the stillness of the Barrens. The soldiers sat in a familiar silence with each other, each mind wrapped up in its own thoughts, but whether their focus was elsewhere or on the task at hand was hard to say.

But this night there was a stranger in their midst, a passenger they were sworn to protect at any cost.

"How much further, Captain Bryce?"

"Well by the looks of things," he began, observing the sky and distant landmarks, "It won't be too long now priestess. I'd wager you're eager to get all this traveling over with. Maybe a tad nervous too, eh?" Replied the captain, sharing a wink accompanied with a warm smile. The scruff of an untrimmed salt-and-pepper beard aged the man well beyond that of his late thirties.

_'If he only knew.'_

"Thank you captain," Lorinel responded, smiling weakly in the quivering torchlight.

For a mission that once filled her with reverie, that began with such high promise and expectations, she started to feel more unsure with each step they took deeper into Horde territory. Shadows of doubt now stood behind every aspiration, fear undermining her optimism.

But there was no turning back now. Lorinel knew that and so did the twenty or so guardsmen that were detached to escort her. They were an odd bunch, many crude in humor as well as personality but Lorinel mostly kept to herself. She felt out of place here, uncomfortable, but she also knew Elune was with her. This desolate place would be her home now.

_'I'll need your guidance and wisdom now more than ever, my Lady.'_

Azeroth had drastically changed since the time of her ancestors, in a way that was almost mythical. Her greatmother told stories of great wars fought between the Horde, bloodthirsty and savage, and the stalwart, valiant Alliance. About how they banded together to push back countless demonic hordes to save Azeroth from the brink of destruction. Although these tales once captivated her as a child, she found herself to be a little skeptical now.

But it all brought her back to her childhood in Dolanaar, nestled in the embracing verdant forests of Teldrassil. Sitting on the shore of Lake Al'ameth at night, toes scrunched in the wet, grainy sand and gazing at the great white moon above.

_'To imagine the start of this great journey all began on that night...'_

Lorinel sighed softly, a light smile tracing her lips. Reminiscing of her childhood somewhat placated her fears and she was glad for the reprieve.

The priestess's mind wandered as the convoy rode on for a long while in silence, but the captain snapped her from her reverie that felt as only a few minutes had slipped by.

"You are very brave my lady," he began, his gaze forward but his focus seemed elsewhere. "Your dedication speaks volumes for your person."

His features seemed somehow rougher in time since they'd last spoke, she noticed slight bags under sunken eyes. He seemed more grizzled and there was something else she couldn't quite place, but she shook it off.

_'It's only the darkness and fatigue taking its toll on all of us.'_

"Thank you for your kind words captain, but I only do my duty. Elune lights my path and I follow," giving what she felt was an appropriate priestly reply, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

"It's okay to be afraid." He turned to face her. "The strong recognize that fear can be a tool used to one's advantage. To bolster your resolve. To let go and understand that it's a weakness of the flesh, and that what you stand for is more than just flesh and bone," conviction began to steadily grip his voice.

Lorinel turned to meet his eyes, gleaming in the writhing light. She went to speak but found her mouth dry. With a cough, she moistened her tongue and continued, "Captain Bryce, your devotedness to the cause and to the Alliance is most," she paused, the silence drifting before she found the word. "Exemplary. You can be sure to count on a shining evaluation when I send word of my safe arrival," she said, offering a curt nod and attempting a genuine smile in lieu of his unusual remarks.

His lips curled into a smile to match hers. "That is most kind of you, my lady." His gaze turned forward once more and the smile grew wider.

"Double time men!" He barked to the soldiers, kicking in his heels to spur the horse forward.

Lorinel followed suit, the horses trotting up toward the crest of a steep tract of elevated land.

"Is everything alright captain?" She called out, unsure if her message reached him among the clattering of material and the low chatter that broke out.

Her mare fell into rank with the others and she reined in alongside Bryce, whose arm swept out in a gesture to the area below them. A low rumble could be heard from the plains down the rise, which she slowly realized was a drum beat. In the middle of the wide expanse sat a blob of light, twinkling akin to a star.

Lorinel blew out a long breath. The first leg of her journey was almost complete, both to her great dismay and joy. She looked over to him and gestured to the town with a nod.

"The Crossroads?"

"They are expecting us, priestess. Shall we?"

* * *

"Easy girl," soothed the motherly troll as she stroked the reptile's pebbly hide.

The creature shifted in place, gnashing its jaws and chirping softly. Violet colored eyes observed the troll, nuzzling her nose in her master's touch.

"Thank ya for comin' ta see us off boys." Katanja smiled. "I'll be missin' those handsome green faces," the troll said with a wink, turning to adjust the straps of a pack fastened to the raptor.

"Get on with it you old blue harpy, we don't have all day," grinned Rogar, arms crossed over his thick chest.

"We all deal with sadness in our own ways, eh Katanja?" Kraz said, nodding to Rogar and giving him a playful nudge.

"I'll write ya everyday Rogar, so you can rest easy all tha nights I'll be gone," consoled the troll, who reached out and pinched the brawny orc's cheek between two fingers, shaking slowly. The scowl that began to form on his face tightened the skin out of her grip and she turned back to her mount with a cackling laugh.

"Time to quit flirting Katanja, the caravan is ready," called Elroden, rounding the stables on a large, elegant hawkstrider. Vicious talons clacked on the stone as he approached, sleek and brilliant plumage shimmering in the moonlight.

"Finally a voice of reason," grunted Rogar. Unknown to others, he had an fondness for the majestic birds. "Hey fella," he cooed, reaching out to stroke the avian mount as the mage moved by him. The hawkstrider beak whipped out and nipped the orc's hand, squawking as it took a few steps back.

"Silas!" Elroden scolded, tugging hard on the reins. "My apologies Rogar, he's very temperamental when he doesn't get a lot of sleep." The mage smoothed the ruffled green feather along the creature's slender neck and breast.

Rogar mumbled under his breath as he sucked on the wound, the familiar tang of blood carpeting his palette. "Eh, it's alright. I'm cranky without my beauty sleep too." He stared down the hawkstrider, burning orange slits locked with his stone grey eyes.

Noticing the exchange, Elroden disrupted the event by spurring his mount forward, shaking his head. "We must be off Katanja. You know as well as I do that time is of the essence. "

"Are you sure it is wise to begin your journey at night? It's been a long day, you've hardly had a moments rest since the council met." Kraz's voice was underpinned with concern, looking back to the two mages.

"Your concern is appreciated but like Elroden said, time is our most limited resource. Tha sooner we get to Winterspring tha better." Satisfied with the job she did fastening her packs and satchels, she lifted herself up onto the saddle and took up the reins.

"We'll be sending progress reports regularly but we won't see you boys for a while. Stay out of trouble alright?"

"We wish you a safe trip then. May the winds be at your back." Kraz smiled warmly.

"Have fun playing in the snow."

* * *

Gusts of wind whistled through the craggy alleys and streets of Orgrimmar. The keening sound was familiar to those who called the city their home on windy nights such as this, but aggravating to the visiting minority who haven't adjusted.

The orcs wound their way down from the Valley of Honor, strong wind tugging at their clothes and tousling their hair.

"It's strange thinking those two will be gone. Do you know who your father has to replace his mage council in their absence? "

"Drakal I believe. Not exactly a mage, but the best fit for the time being." Rogar ran a thick hand through a mane of unbound black hair as it whipped around his face. "Damned wind." He clawed at his cheek to pull out the tresses caught in his mouth.

"Drakal?"

"Yes, why do you sound surprised?"

"Surely you've heard the whispers that surround him. I am reluctant to trust anyone who devotes his life to the shadows of magic. It's not natural Rogar." A faint shudder ran through the shaman's body as he tensed and released his fists.

"I didn't know you were so superstitious Kraz," Rogar quipped.

His boots crunched to a halt."The elements have forsaken him Rogar! He severed his bond with the spirits of our world for the shadows and demons of the nether. The very air around him," he paused, stormy blue eyes wandering over the darkened skies around them. "It's unnaturally still, as if it thins when he's near you." He looked to Rogar. "Don't tell me you don't feel it too."

Rogar frowned, seeing his friend's genuine discomfort on the subject. He placed a firm hand on Kraz's shoulder. "I know what's said about him, even on the council. But he was appointed by my father, and I place far greater trust in his word than I do in whispers."

The shaman's muscles relaxed, posture loosening. "I suppose you're right. Durok seems to know what he's doing." A reluctant smile broke his anxious features. "What do you think-" In Rogar's mind the words trailed off although the conversation continued, becoming distorted and muffled.

"_Rogar." _The sound fluttered through him, barely a whisper.

He swiveled his head, searching for the source. The world around him felt strange, limbs growing heavy, his mind boggy and sluggish.

"_Rogarrr._"It came again, almost a hiss, now from behind him.

Rogar turned around and looked toward an alley cloaked in shadow, face twisted in concentration to discern something from the darkness. He felt his body being pulled to his name as it echoed within his mind. He heard other words, but they were subdued as though spoken through a cushion when something gripped his shoulder. But he only shrugged it off, picking up his pace.

"_Rogar._"

Rogar stood before the alley, grey eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of life. Muffled conversation continued somewhere beyond but the darkness entranced him, fixed him to where he was standing. A faint, distant glow appeared in the passageway, hovering a few feet off the ground. As it drew closer the mote took on a greenish tint, an aura of softly undulating light surrounding it. Confusion coiled his face as the luminous globe took on a defined appearance as it now hurdled toward him. The disembodied green eye collided into Rogar, green smoke and embers showering over him as darkness overwhelmed him.

* * *

_Snow._

_Flecks of pure ivory fluttered leisurely to earth, surrendering to the gentle breeze that swept the wasteland. _

_The hilly region was blanketed with immaculate white snow, the moon above casting a soft glow that shimmered along the white capped ridges and peaks._

_The serenity of the scene was interrupted by a steady rumble in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment. _

_The sound sharpened as it drew closer; the thumping of horse hooves could be distinguished amidst the cacophony. _

_Thunder echoed across the terrain as a herd of horses stormed through the thick banks of snow, skin craggy and jet black. Their hooves held a molten glow as fel flames licked their legs, the beasts seemingly unaffected by the heat._

_The steeds were bound by thick, searing red chains that wound and cauterized their flesh and sealed their hides to the metal. Dragging in the snow behind them was a figure, fettered by the very chains that shackled the horses together. _

_As the herd cut swathes in the unmarred white field they left behind a trail of blackened corruption that seemed to poison the very earth; thick, greasy smoke steaming from the charred and crackling dirt._

_The chained figure jerked and thumped along the trail behind the infernal creatures, skin torn and ground away to reveal muscle and bone abraded with filth, stones and soil. Its legs and arms were bound, any shred of clothing to provide a modicum of dignity had long been ripped away. _

_Escape was impossible, any further attempt bound the scalding chains tighter against the broken body. Where tears had once flowed freely and laughter often resounded was a blackened and sundered mask._

_The horses rode on as a blackened spire emerged in the distance, drawing closer by the second._

_The figure began to laugh as they neared the throne, shrill and crazed but unheard among the dissonance surrounding it._

_Blood red eyes, tortured and aware, snapped open above a jagged yellow grin and spoke a word among the chaos._

_

* * *

_

A/N: Hey guys! I know it's been a long while since an update but between classes, moving and other life related things I've had little time to devote to my beloved fic. However I've had time to really adjust and define the direction of the story and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do (: If you enjoyed the chapter I hope you'll review, I do enjoy hearing from you - bad or good! Thanks!_  
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